Continued from Part Nine

Commander Justice stood outside the Sword’s door. Would the Sword even care what he had to say? It didn’t matter. He had to get it said. He knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” the Sword answered from within the medieval English cottage.

Commander Justice walked in.

The Sword stood. “Commander, how are you doing? Curador said that stab wound was pretty bad.”

“I had to change into my spare costume, but thanks to Curador I’m not too bad. I’ve been more woozy after donating blood.”

“You give blood? That is so excellent. It’s a behavior I haven’t really worked into a comic book, but it’s something we should definitely encourage. Maybe with a—”

“Sword! That’s not why I came. I came to confess.”

“To what?”

“Resenting you. As a Christian, I’m not supposed to hate or envy people. I’ve got to admit I resent you, and I probably hate you for what you’ve been doing to my family.”

“I don’t understand. When I took over Justice Comics, I made our first priority re-paying the Justice Family five million in royalties from when the previous owner used your name without paying you.”

“It’s not about the money, Sword. You’ve done fine with the money.”

“Then what?”

“You act like you invented supers. You’re the big boss, and we’re all mere sidekicks. Never mind that some of us have been doing this for years, or that my family has been doing this for generations. I know you realized on September 11 that real evil exists in the world. Some of us didn’t need two buildings to blow up to tell us that.”

The Sword sat down in his chair. “I’ve never meant anything by it, Commander. It’s just, for a company to succeed, it needs a strong promoter at the head of it. A voice. I can be that voice.”

“Sorry that my family was never great at self-promotion.”

“For not trying, you sure made a big impression in the Big Apple.”

“It’s not about promotion or comic books. It’d just be nice to be treated like someone who has been doing this since I was twelve rather than someone who just yesterday got their superpowers from an accident.”

“The Captain first took you out when you were twelve? That means you’ve been doing this—”

“About as long as you’ve been alive.”

“Commander, I apologize if I’ve not consulted you enough. I’ll try to do better.”

Skyscraper, Small Packages, and Cap-tain Revolution burst in. Small Packages said, “Hey, Sword. Where’s Revelator?”

“He headed over to the science camp to do some soil analysis with Data Bank.”

“When did he leave?”

“About an hour ago.”

“We checked there. Data Bank hasn’t seen Revelator since this morning.”

The Sword stood up. “Let’s go find him.” He turned to Commander Justice. “Care to come along?”

“I’d be glad to.”

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Eight

A ghost walked through the door. Sariah gripped Jesse’s desk and took a sharp intake of breath. “Rick?”

“My dear,” Rick swept in and planted a most unwelcome kiss on her cheek. “It’s been a long time. Too long.”

Not long enough. It’d been three years since she’d made her choice. Jesse, not Rick or the Sword—who turned out to be Jesse, but that was another story.

 What was Rick Westinghall doing back in her life? And being so forward? Her husband was supposed to be in a coma, not dead. Which he wasn’t. Whatever happened to that plane, the Sword would find a way back. He always did.

“Rick, what brings you here?”

And who gave him an appointment?

“I’m here officially as a courtesy call on behalf of my new employer.”

She glanced at her Blackbery’s appoint-ment calendar. “1:30-2:00 Awesome Com-ics. Courtesy Call.” Had she seen the name, she’d have cancelled. Handling competitors were Jesse’s forte, not her’s. “What’s your position with Awesome Comics?”

“Executive Vice-President. I run the place. Still manage a little drawing on the side. Who thought four years ago, when the hottest date we could afford was Wendy’s, that we’d command the two largest comic book empires in the world?”

I’d rather be at home taking care of my son, thanks. “Tell me, Rick. Did they train you to be a jerk at Awesome Comics, or did you have to take outside classes?”

“I’m not presenting myself well I take it?”

“The only reason I’m heading this com-pany is because my husband is in a coma. I can’t believe you would have the chutzpah to come here for social reasons.”

“Personally, I think you should pull the plug, grieve, and move on. It’s both selfish and unhealthy to hold on to him like this.”

She glared and pointed to the door.

He sent her a formerly-disarming smile and put up his hands in surrender. “But I can respect you not being ready to start dating a-gain—yet. If you need someone with you when you find the strength to do the right thing for Jesse and say goodbye, I’ll gladly be there for you.”

Why did I ever consider marrying this guy? “Not a chance, pal. Out.”

Rick chuckled. “Now, now. I meant as a friend, of course, and I do have business.”

“Fine.”

But be prepared to leave in a hurry.

“Times are tough, and I know this isn’t up your alley. I’ve been reading the product line, and it’s not been the same since Jesse left us. Your writers can’t function at a nor-mal comic book company, where you can’t talk to a hero and get their latest exploits down. At Awesome Comics we have the finest writers in the business.”

“What are you suggesting, Rick?”

“I’m suggesting that you sell us Sword Comics.”

Continued…Next Monday

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Captain Justice heaved a sigh of relief as the pain receded.

Dr. Baxter pulled the syringe out. “Cap, I expect you to take it easy and keep your leg elevated for two weeks, and be sure to put ice on it. See me back here then and we’ll evaluate what to do next. Usually, this injury takes 8-12 weeks to heal, but with your metabolism, you’ll make a remarkable recovery.”

Dr. Baxter drummed his fingers on his desk. “My medical opinion of your fitness to return to crime fighting is, once your injury heals, you can begin training. Your vitals were stable. What happened out there is you overdid it.”

“I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done when I was twenty-five.”

“You’re  not  twenty-five anymore. Not chronologically or physiologically. You’ve got to know your limits. In training you’ll establish those. During training, work eight hours a day, moving to ten after a month of training, and up to twelve after you’ve been out a while.”

“A forty hour work week? You’re kid-ding. Whoever heard of scheduling for a Superhero job?”

“The Sword, may he rest in peace. The Sword worked Monday-Thursday, 8-4:30, and Friday 8:00-Noon. He was on call on the weekends unless he was at the beach.”

I know bankers who work harder. “Who told you this?”

“The Commander. It miffed him.”

“If we had a city full of assistants like the Sword did, I guess I could schedule my life like that.”

“Something to think about.”

Captain Justice laughed. “Please, Doc. I’m not going to start Justice, Inc.”

“If you can get any help, take it.”

“People who can do my job are in short supply. Anyway, this medicine’s making me a little woozy. Can we go home?”

“Sure, but I’d also recommend adding more gadgets to your repertoire. It’ll give you an edge. ”

“Seems like cheating.”

“The only rule out there is stay alive.”

Dr. Baxter wheeled Captain Justice out into the empty parking lot of Baxter’s office.

Captain Justice heaved a sigh of relief. 

Thankfully, nobody else is around here on Sundays. Captain Justice in a wheelchair is embarrassing.

“One more thing, Cap. You need to tell your family. They deserve to know.”

Captain Justice groaned.

It’d be more fun to twist my knee again. Wally’s not going to be happy.

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Seven

Captain Justice heaved a sigh of relief as the pain receded.

Dr. Baxter pulled the syringe out. “Cap, I expect you to take it easy and keep your leg elevated for two weeks, and be sure to put ice on it. See me back here then and we’ll evaluate what to do next. Usually, this injury takes 8-12 weeks to heal, but with your metabolism, you’ll make a remarkable recovery.”

Dr. Baxter drummed his fingers on his desk. “My medical opinion of your fitness to return to crime fighting is, once your injury heals, you can begin training. Your vitals were stable. What happened out there is you overdid it.”

“I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done when I was twenty-five.”

“You’re  not  twenty-five anymore. Not chronologically or physiologically. You’ve got to know your limits. In training you’ll establish those. During training, work eight hours a day, moving to ten after a month of training, and up to twelve after you’ve been out a while.”

“A forty hour work week? You’re kid-ding. Whoever heard of scheduling for a Superhero job?”

“The Sword, may he rest in peace. The Sword worked Monday-Thursday, 8-4:30, and Friday 8:00-Noon. He was on call on the weekends unless he was at the beach.”

I know bankers who work harder. “Who told you this?”

“The Commander. It miffed him.”

“If we had a city full of assistants like the Sword did, I guess I could schedule my life like that.”

“Something to think about.”

Captain Justice laughed. “Please, Doc. I’m not going to start Justice, Inc.”

“If you can get any help, take it.”

“People who can do my job are in short supply. Anyway, this medicine’s making me a little woozy. Can we go home?”

“Sure, but I’d also recommend adding more gadgets to your repertoire. It’ll give you an edge. ”

“Seems like cheating.”

“The only rule out there is stay alive.”

Dr. Baxter wheeled Captain Justice out into the empty parking lot of Baxter’s office.

Captain Justice heaved a sigh of relief. 

Thankfully, nobody else is around here on Sundays. Captain Justice in a wheelchair is embarrassing.

“One more thing, Cap. You need to tell your family. They deserve to know.”

Captain Justice groaned.

It’d be more fun to twist my knee again. Wally’s not going to be happy.

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Six

Small Packages strolled to a twisted Halloween tree that Captain Revolution had perched in. “Hey, Red.”

Captain Revolution sighed and glared down at him. “What is it now?”

“Could you jump from that tree to that one a few feet away?”

“I don’t think there’s any actual super hero among us who couldn’t manage that. It’s only about a four foot leap.”

“Champion took a blood test. Data Bank found traces of a sedative called Seconal.”

“You know how annoying Champion is when he can’t sleep. Even the snoring is not as bad. I can’t get to sleep.”

“So you decided to slip him a drug. Do you realize that Seconal is addictive, not to mention illegal without a prescription in the United States?”

“The Chinese government authorizes me to carry it on my missions. It’s come in handy more times than you’d imagine.”

“Well, per Champion’s request, you’re getting a new roommate, Tarantula King, and he doesn’t drink. Thanks to the accident that gave us the mutant spider we all know and love, alcohol makes him deathly ill.”

“I trust he doesn’t snore.”

“Nah, he webbed down at our pad in Chicago. Slept like a baby tarantula. But that leaves you without an alibi.”

Captain Revolution laughed. “Why do I need an alibi? Only you think  Dark Mystic wasn’t behind what happened to Defender. What even makes you suspect otherwise?”

“The murder didn’t fit his MO. The lack of a body isn’t his style. That, plus the blood on the Defender’s coat.”

“Why would finding blood on his coat be an issue?”

“The blood was thick on the outside of the coat, but thin on the inside, indicating the blood seeped from the outside of the coat to the inside rather than from the inside of the coat to the outside.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that it looks really suspicious unless the Defender was wearing his coat inside out.”

“And you’ve picked me as the prime suspect to be the traitor.”

 “You declared your intent to violate his girlfriend because you’re a racist jerk and you know you’ll never get away with it as long as the rest of us are protecting her. You have no alibi because you drugged your roommate with an illegal sedative. You can easily leap from tree to tree without leaving tracks. Why shouldn’t I suspect you?”

Silence.

Small Packages said, “There’s one way to clear yourself.”

“And what is that?”

“Let Revelator scan your mind.”

“What if I don’t want to let him?”

“If you’re innocent, why not?”

Captain Revolution jumped down from the tree. “Very well. Oh, and, wherever you have that brother of yours hiding, have him come out.”

There goes my hope Captain Skinhead would panic and attack me.

“Come on, Skyscraper.”

Skyscraper came out from behind a large tree and joined them.

Continued from Part Four

Dr. Lenny Baxter sat in a laundry truck, monitoring Captain Justice’s vitals. Stable. The radio crackled. “Doc, I see something.”

Heart rate up. Lenny pressed the button on his two way radio. “What is it, Cap?”

“A drug deal. Big. Looks like eight guys down there. Cops would take months to set this up, and I just stumbled into it.”

“I’ll call the police, Cap.”

“No time.”

“I agreed to monitor your vitals against a single opponent. This is too much.”

“Sorry to ruin the test.”

Heart rate way up.

“Cap?”

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Three

Jason Justice stood on a rooftop in New York, overlooking an alley. Could Captain Justice come back? Only one way to answer the question.

A man with a gun crouched in the alley, waiting for his victim. A well-dressed man in his early forties walked by. The mugger pointed his gun at the man. “Get in here, real quick.”

The man walked into the alley.

“Time to go to work.” Captain Justice stared up at the sky in silent prayer. God, please help me.

Captain Justice dived down from the sky. His feet landed right on the mugger’s jaw, knocking him away.

The mugger stood, grabbed his gun, and turned to Jason. The mugger dropped his gun. “I give. I can’t fight freakin’ Captain Justice.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Man, I grew up on your comic. What chance a mug like me got? Even if I could kill you, my whole family would hate me. You’re an icon. It’d be like I shot Babe Ruth or the Statue of Liberty.”

“I see.”

Captain Justice tied up the mugger and returned the money to its owner. Now to find a criminal with less deference.

Continued…Next Monday

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Continued from Part Thirteen

Lenny sat in his kitchen table, playing solitaire cribbage. As usual, he lost. He’d never known anyone who won solitaire, not even Reverend Jones.

He choked back tears. He had to do something. He went to the closet and grab-bed his bugle from his days in the military, so long ago.

Outside, he lowered the flag that hung on his stair rail to half-mast. He began to play taps for his dear friend.

At five, a night crew nurse clocked in. Her boss handed her a clean bed pan. “Go check on Mrs. Kennedy. She sat up at one o’clock and has been in that position ever since. We can’t get her to lay down.”

The nurse went about changing Mrs. Kennedy’s bedpan. “Shame about Reverend Jones. Shot by some animal. Real shame.”

She looked up. Tears streamed down Mrs. Kennedy’s cheeks.

Jimmy Olsen sat along side two of his friends on the basketball court. “Wanna play horse?”

Kenny Chung shook his head. “I don’t feel like it.”

Jimmy picked up a stone. “Yeah, me neither.”

Silence fell.

Jimmy sniffled. Pastor Jones taught them how to shoot hoops. It wasn’t fair. Powerhouse would make sure the bad guy never hurt anyone else, but who would be there for them?  Jimmy threw the stone as hard as he could. “Let’s go. Maybe we’ll feel more like playing tomorrow.”

Continued…Next Tuesday

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Continued from Part Two

Small Packages walked up to Captain Revolution, who was outside exercising.

 “Hello, Revolution.”

China’s champion grunted. “What have I done to deserve your visit?”

“Nothing I hope. I’m only verifying where everybody was last night when the incident occurred with the Defender.”

“It wasn’t my night to keep watch, so I was in bed. Ask Champion.”

Small Packages nodded. “Yeah, he said you went to bed about 11:30 PM. He went right to sleep.”

“I think that’s all there is to it.”

He wasn’t about to let it go just like that. “You hear him snore any?”

“Every night.”

“Like a train, right?”

“That’s an excellent analogy.”

Yeah, but it means something funny’s going on. “I had Champion in Chicago for a week, and I heard him snore. He needs to go to a sleep disorder clinic.”

“He must have snored a lot.”

“Nope, once. The guy’s got insomnia something awful.” Small Packages stared into Captain Revolution’s eyes. “He never goes right to sleep.”

Sweat poured off Captain Revolution’s brow and his eyes darted away. “Well, this is a different climate, and our days are very stressful.”

“Yeah, that must be it.” Had nothing to do with you and Champion having a glass of wine before bed. Five gets you ten that ol’ Revolution slipped something in the drink

Continued…Next Monday

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